


So Many Jokes, So Many Sneers

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Non AU, a little bit, but most likely, but not really, football louis, its just fluffy, its mainly cute, probably, sort of, this actually happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1978743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry’s mouth opens in greeting but he stops himself when a dirty white Van skitters across the laminate with a violent ferocity, only stopping when it thuds against the fridge, one of the magnets Gemma had bought them clattering to the floor.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>The other one follows it after few moments and a loud thud.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Louis isn’t wearing the Rovers jersey anymore.</i></p><p> </p><p><i>Or;</i> the post 'Rovers Meeting' story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Many Jokes, So Many Sneers

**Author's Note:**

> i was texting [lyz](http://genderfluidlouis.tumblr.com/) and then this happened.
> 
> title from Three Lions by The England Football Team (duh)

_omw_.

That’s it. That’s all Harry’s heard from Louis all day. Which is fine. It’s fine.

Louis’d slipped out of bed around eleven-ish, pressing a quick kiss against Harry’s forehead before skipping over to their wardrobe and wriggling into his Rovers jersey and a pair of joggers, battered white Vans on his feet.

“I’ll see you this evening, babe.” He’d grinned, slumping against the door jam.

Harry had just grumped, shoving himself up the bed, duvet pooling in his lap as he made grabby hands at Louis, who’d giggled and sauntered over for one last kiss before he disappeared.

It’s fine. Really. It’s not as if Harry’s been sat on the sofa all day waiting for him, because he hasn’t. He’s got up to pee at least three times.

He’s half way through his eleventh episode of Real Housewives of New Jersey when he hears keys in the door, the massive Eifel Tower key ring they’d picked up in Vegas knocking against the letterbox. Harry’s mouth opens in greeting but he stops himself when a dirty white Van skitters across the laminate with a violent ferocity, only stopping when it thuds against the fridge, one of the magnets Gemma had bought them clattering to the floor.

The other one follows it after few moments and a loud thud.

Louis isn’t wearing the Rovers jersey anymore.

His eyes are puffy and his hair is a mess, haphazardly pushed back from his forehead with a purple scarf Harry had left in the car last week. He’s wearing one of Harry’s t-shirts too, damp and clinging to his skin with the early drizzles of rain that’s pattering against the French Doors.

Harry’s out of his seat in seconds, arms out stretched, blanket draped over his shoulders. “We didn’t do it, Haz.” He hears as he bundles Louis into his arms. “I didn’t do it.” He sounds so tiny and fragile and Harry can’t stand it, his heart hurts like he’s been stabbed in his chest. He thinks he’d probably prefer that if it meant Louis was safe.

“I know, babe. John called. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He presses a kiss against Louis’ temple, his lips lingering there until Louis’ breathing evens out just a little. “I made cookies.” He whispers into Louis’ hair. “And I got Love Actually all ready to go, if you want?”

Louis sniffles, dropping his head to press against Harry’s collar bone. “Yeah,” He whispers into the skin there, breath hot and damp fanning out across Harry’s skin. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

He shuffles back, out of Harry’s arms, flashing him a smile that doesn’t even nearly reach his eyes. “C’n I, uh,” He sniffs. “C’n I have a hug first?” He mumbles, gaze dropping to his bare toes. “Please.”

Harry laughs, shoving at the blanket until it slips off his shoulders and drops to the floor, before surging forward to wrap his arms around Louis’ middle. “Don’t be an idiot,” He whispers as Louis rises up onto his toes, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, his grip tight, like he’s worried if he lets go he might float away. “You can always have a hug, you tit. Don’t have to ask.”

“I know, I know. Sorry.” Louis’ mumbles, his voice muffled by the fabric of Harry’s shirt. “Sorry.”

Harry scoffs; watching as Louis takes a step back, smoothing out his (Harry’s) shirt before leaning down to grab him behind the knees, hoisting him into his arms. Louis shrieks, scrambling for something to grip onto before his arms settle heavily around Harry neck. Ignoring Louis’ groans of protest, Harry carries him bridal style over to the old brown sofa in the middle of the room (it was a gift from Anne when they first bought the house, old and battered and Harry’s sown it up more times that he can count) (they’ll probably have it until they’re old and battered themselves).

Louis stares up at him, eyes wide, as Harry lays him down across it, running a hand through his hair, bandana tangled in his fingers before he drops it to the floor. “Hey,” Harry whispers, leaning down to nuzzle against his cheek bone, the cool metal of his cross tingling the exposed skin of Louis’ chest. “I’m proud of you - really, really proud. Gonna go make some tea, okay, stay here.” Louis nods, makes a small disgruntled noise in the back of his throat as he drops his arms from around Harry’s neck, watches over the back of the sofa as he shuffles into the kitchen.

It’s nearing ten minutes by the time Harry returns and Louis can barely keep his eyes open, lids heavy with the weight of the world. The TV is quiet, black, tired of waiting for someone to use it, leaving the rest of the house in silence apart from the soft patter of Harry’s feet padding over the laminate, the dull thud as Harry sets the mug down on the table. Louis feels the sofa dip a little beside his hip, cracks his eyes open to see Harry perched beside him, fond smile tugging at his lips. “Go upstairs love,” He says with a small smile, running his hand over Louis’ face, thumb fitting in the space beside his ear. “Why don’t you go run a bath? I’ll get sorted down here and then I’ll join you?”

Louis nods, stifling a yawn against the back of his hand as he sits up, wrapping his arm back around Harry’s neck, tugging him closer, breathing him in. “Love you,” He mumbles into his hair.

“I know,” Harry grins, patting his hip. “Go on pumpkin, get the bath ready.” He laughs, watching as Louis stands up with a groan, stretching his arms up above his head, shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of tanned skin, toned now from all the football. “Stop dawdling and go!”

Laughing, Louis shuffles slowly towards to the stairs. “M’going. God, chill out.” He giggles.

“I’ll be up in five, alright.”

-

The bathroom is empty when Harry lugs himself in there, fresh mug of tea in one hand, his favourite candle in the other (it’s the cookie scented one that Louis had bought him in Paris. Harry had grabbed the wrong one on the way out of the house and Louis had spent a whole three days complaining about how _no one in their right mind likes lemon candles, Haz why did you bring that_. The next day he’d come back to the hotel room brandishing a striped blue box and had made Harry open it right then) (they’d stayed in the bath until the water was cold and Louis was asleep). There are two towels on top of the toilet but its dark and the bath is decidedly not full with either water or a Louis.

He finds Louis, moments later, in their bed. Well, _on it_ more specifically. He looks tiny, curled in on himself in the middle of the duvet, Rovers jersey stretched tight across his back, tiny little whimpers falling from his lips and Harry knows he should help him, comfort him, at least make him take the god damn jersey off. But, he just _can’t_ , is the thing. Can’t not just stand and stare for a while because he’s beautiful. It’s getting dark outside but there’s a full moon tonight, the soft glow falling across his back, the side of his face where it’s peeking out from under his arm, framing him in a silver light, the wisps of his hair lighting up.

He does, eventually, manage to tear his eyes away and make his way over to the bed, setting the tea down on the dresser, candle discarded by the door. “Take it off, Lou.” He says softly, wincing as Louis’ breath hitches in his throat.

“I just,” He sobs as he lets Harry take his hand, pull him into a sitting position. “I just wanted this one nice thing,” He snuffles as Harry takes the hem of the jersey in his hands, pulls it over his arms. “And now I can’t have it.” He sobs, shaking as Harry dabs at his eyes with the balled up jersey in his fist.

“C’mon,” He whispers, chucking the jersey towards the bottom of the bed. He knows he’ll have to get up early to move it so it doesn’t set Louis off again, shove it in the bottom of the wardrobe somewhere, but he does it anyway. “Let’s sleep, yeah. Bed time for you.” He sing-songs as he plasters himself to Louis back, fitting his fingers in the spaces between Louis’ own.

Louis sniffles again, letting out a breath, shoulders dropping as he relaxes into Harry’s grip.

It’s quiet, for a long time, the rise and fall of Louis’ breath against his front and the odd car speeding past the window are the only noises he hears until Louis turns in his arms, the moon shining in his irises, blinking up at Harry in the dark. “Thank you, Haz.” He whispers, stoking a thumb over his cheek bone, and then “I love you.”

And yeah, Harry thinks, as he kisses Louis goodnight, he thinks it’ll be alright.

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://larrytrash.tumblr.com/) if you want.


End file.
